


Fic: Bulletproof (R)

by tuesdaysgone



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-26
Updated: 2010-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:06:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/tuesdaysgone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’ll all come out of it alive if I have anything to say about it,” he says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fic: Bulletproof (R)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allyndra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyndra/gifts).



> Thanks to [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/tricksterquinn/profile)[**tricksterquinn**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/tricksterquinn/) for the beta!

Gerard pulls the Trans Am into the diner’s dirt lot with a squeak of overworked axles, disturbing a cloud of dust to swirl around them. They all watch it in silence for a moment. Ray’s the first to move, pushing the passenger door open and scooping up the sleeping child beside him. “I’ll take the motorbaby to bed,” he says fondly, juggling her and his helmet till Mikey clambers out of the backseat and takes the helmet away. Gerard watches them walk around the back of the car in the rear view mirror, shoulders bumping companionably. He reaches up, twisting the mirror. Frank is still in the backseat, mask lying crumpled next to him. He hasn’t moved yet.

“You okay?” Gerard asks softly. Those dracs had beaten Frank nearly to hell before he took them out.

“Yeah.” Frank tugs the bandanna off his neck, uses it to wipe the worst of the grime off his face. He’d love a shower, Gerard knows, but they have to ration the water till Show Pony brings word of the next swap meet. “Came out of it alive, didn’t I? This time.”

Gerard twists around, jacket squeaking against the sun-bleached leather of the seat. “You’ll all come out of it alive if I have anything to say about it,” he says.

“You don’t, Gee. Not really. We’re in this together, but it doesn’t mean....just come here,” Frank says, frustrated. He grabs Gerard by the front of his jacket and tugs till Gerard is halfway over the center console, sprawled over the backseat and Frank’s lap. He twists, booted feet thumping against the seat backs, and fetches up with one elbow braced on the seat and one hand splayed against the curve of Frank’s shoulder.

“Frank,” he gasps, and Frank twists a hand through his hair and tugs.

“I’m not ready to go inside yet,” Frank murmurs, pressing their open mouths together. Gerard lets him, curling a hand through the messy black hair at the back of Frank’s neck and just breathing with him for a few beats. The shared breath is warm, and sweet, and everything that the hot, acrid air outside the car isn’t. “Can we - “ he starts.

“Yes,” Gerard breathes, shifting so that he’s kneeling astride Frank’s lap, shoulders following the curve of the Trans Am’s roof. “Please.” It’s been too long, Gerard out in the car patrolling the zones for hours each day, Frank scrounging supplies with Mikey and piecing together intel from days-old newspapers. He pushes Frank’s vest off his shoulders, tilting his head to lick at the sweaty skin over the collar of his shirt. Frank’s fingers are a gentle cage around his jaw, a ghost of the pressure Korse had applied earlier. The red dye flakes under his fingertips, and Frank’s lips press against his temple, his eyebrow, the corner of his mouth.

“This isn’t going to last forever,” he murmurs, and Gerard bites at his throat in frustration.

“It’ll be better,” Gerard tells him, settling his weight down on Frank’s lap, pressing their hips together as Frank bucks and swears, a shudder running through his body. “Bulletproof, baby. Trust me.” He snakes a hand between them, ripping at fastenings until he can wrench their pants out of the way and wrap a hand around them both.

There’s not enough room, not enough time. Never enough privacy. The sirens are going off already, a dim counterpoint to Frank’s low groans as Gerard jerks them off. Frank just holds on, head tilting back against the seat, hands slipping into Gerard’s hair. Gerard muffles his own moans against Frank’s neck, hair sticking and sliding against the dusty leather. It won’t last much longer; it never does these days. Gerard fantasizes, when they crawl into their nest of scavenged blankets at night, about beds. Clean sheets. Stripping off every last piece of clothing to expose Frank’s ink. Having time to taste him.

These days, he’s more likely to suck him off in the bathroom of a deserted filling station and then hand him a gas can. He’s learned to hear “I love you” in the click-spark of Frank’s ancient, beloved Zippo. This is what they have, now. The blast of a ray gun. The throaty purr of the Trans Am. Ray stacking dented cans of food on the diner table. Mikey handing off precious records from the-devil-knows-where to Show Pony. The crackle and hiss of the boom box constantly tuned to WKIL.

Frank’s panting now underneath him, one hand sliding down to cover Gerard’s, and the combined press of their fingers is enough to finish him off. It takes Gerard a moment longer, but soon he’s coming too, groans muffled as his mouth finds Frank’s again. It’s always such a fucking surprise, that something can still feel so good. It’s like clean air and windows down and the blacktop roaring under their tires. It’s Frank. When Gerard can speak again he tells him, “We’re gonna get through this.”

Frank pulls a spare bandanna out of his pocket and mops them up the best he can. Once they wrestle their clothing back into place, he shoves Gerard gently out of the back seat and climbs after him. Ray hasn’t drawn the blinds yet, so they can see the figures of their friends - their brothers - moving blurrily behind the dusty glass. Gerard starts toward the diner, and Frank stops him with a hand on his arm. Gerard turns back, and Frank tugs him close enough to kiss him gently one more time. The wind picks up, dusting them with a spray of sand and hot air. “Bulletproof,” Frank whispers against Gerard’s lips, then pulls away. Their eyes meet for a moment. Frank’s are warm, unclouded now - like Before - and Gerard wants to stay, but there are weapons to load, plans to make. They go inside hand in hand.


End file.
